


Détente

by tinknevertalks



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag: Revelations part 2, F/M, Stuck in a Lift, established D/s relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 07:41:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15505602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinknevertalks/pseuds/tinknevertalks
Summary: There's an easing of hostility; a covenant taken on his knees.





	Détente

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Satin and Wool](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12878811) by [tinknevertalks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinknevertalks/pseuds/tinknevertalks). 



> The definition of détente is: _the easing of hostility or strained relations_. I saw the word months ago (I think whilst I watched _Pointless_ or something like that) and it fit the feel of this fic so much that I adopted it.
> 
> This is vaguely set in the same universe as _Satin and Wool_ , but much earlier (that one was post-series, this one is definitely set between seasons 1 and 2). As such, there's a very definite D/s relationship (no pain though - they're stuck in a lift). If it doesn't float your boat, possibly miss this one...
> 
> And, as always with the fanfic I get beta'd, a massive massive thank you to Rinari7. You are amazing! :D

There was no escaping it - Helen was exhausted. Between chasing keys in Bhalasaam, stopping World War III erupting between John, Ni- _Tesla_ and everyone else, and ignoring the gaping chasm that Ashley’s actions had caused, she’d barely time to breathe, let alone grieve. Not that James would have appreciated the sentiment at this time. She could hear his dulcet tones in her head as clearly as if he were stood next to her, ‘Helen, grief serves no-one but yourself. Mourn me later.’

Except she couldn’t compartmentalise this death. She’d known he wouldn’t live forever, or age as slowly as she, but a small part of her had hoped he would, had hoped he’d find a way to escape time and the inevitable. She’d wanted her best friend to live forever, especially since now it appeared John and Tesla were falling back into old ( _bad_ ) habits. Snorting softly in derision, Helen pressed the button for the lift, rolling her eyes as she remembered their posturing in the ruined vampire city.

_If any harm comes to her..._

_… No reason to do_ her _any harm…_

“Children,” she muttered as the elevator dinged into place. Doors opening, she’d just started walking in when she noticed Tesla standing there, smugness personified. Suddenly, exhaustion fled and an almost overwhelming urge to punch him flooded her system.

“Helen,” he greeted, smiling as he did his usual once over of her.

“Nikola,” she replied warily. She hadn’t forgotten Rome. Or the fall out. _Ashley... barely talking to me._

“Come on, I said sorry,” he complained as she stepped across the threshold.

“Did you? When?” she asked bitingly, her arms crossed.

His confusion might have been comical, had she not been so frustrated. Like a fish, his mouth worked wordlessly to find whatever excuse he wanted to give her. In the end he huffed, “I’m sorry.”

“For?” She raised her eyebrow as he jiggled from foot to foot. This wasn’t new behaviour for Helen - she’d been extracting apologies from him like this ( _and other ways_ ) since before his vampire heritage came to light. And this wasn’t new behaviour for him - he’d been stubborn for as long as she’d drawn apologies from him. 

“I’m sorry for saying the Cabal were after you, and for setting my brainless goons on you after you rejected me.”

“Nikola…” she intoned warningly, not wanting to hear yet another refrain of, ‘I’ve been rejected, woe is me,’ finally pressing the button to go down to the lab.

“What?”

She shook her head. “How did you survive...?” Her voice trailed off as she pointed to his stomach.

“Oh, John’s impression of a Ridley Scott alien?” He smirked. “You were there.”

Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him. “I left when John extracted his hand from your stomach.”

It was his turn to look at her critically, but the moment passed. “Well, whoever it was gave me blood, dispatched my drones too.” He chuckled. “It was hot, how she decapitated them, so naturally I assumed it was you.”

Helen felt her lips pull into a sardonic smile. “Naturally,” she replied, a touch sarcastically.

A heavy clunk echoed dully above them. The elevator stopped. “What on Earth?” she muttered, turning and looking out the window as if it would explain anything. “We haven’t the time for this.” Her voice was low, barely contained agitation evident in every syllable. Reaching for her radio, she called on Henry.

“Sorry Doc, there’s a problem with one of the motors.” He paused, then asked hesitantly, “Didn’t you see the out of order sign?”

She sighed testily. “There wasn’t one.”

“Ah.”

“Quite.” Looking out the window, ignoring Tesla, she asked, “How long until it’s fixed?”

Another long pause. She almost said his name again when his voice crackled over the radio, “About half an hour, once I find the right part.”

Another sigh. “Fine. Thank you, Henry.” She didn’t need to turn to see the smirk on Tesla’s face, she knew it would be there, as sure as the nose on her face. “Not a word.”

“Come now Helen, would I say anything?” he asked coyly, mirroring her pose by the window. “Why have you even got a window here?”

“Aesthetic,” she bit out, not really sure why she was getting so angry at him, but knowing he deserved it. _Sixty years. Rome. Bhalasaam._

He held up his hands in surrender. “Just asking a question.”

“Well don’t,” she replied tersely, resting against the window sill. Between her conflicting thoughts about John, Tesla and her own situation ( _played the fool by someone less than half my age_ ), she didn’t need this, being stuck in a small room like a caught truant child or a heroine from a second rate paperback. Worse, being stuck in a room with him.

“Don’t ask questions?” he asked incredulously. “Helen, this is me. I always ask.”

“And it’s always annoying.”

“There was a time when you welcomed my questions.”

“And there was a time you knew when to hold your tongue.”

“Why do it myself when you’re more than able to hold it for me?”

“Heel,” she growled, noticing the way he stopped pacing behind her and fell into position, just as she trained him all those years ago. As she watched, his breathing changed, calming as he resumed a role he hadn’t played for over half a century. His posture was perfect: back straight, eyes forward, feet shoulder width apart and her mind started unspooling images of past sessions, a heady mix of punishment and reward. The minutes passed, Tesla unmoving, Helen standing in one place as tension and anticipation grounded her. “Why?” The word was quiet, but she knew he’d heard her.

“Why?” His tone was incredulous.

“Sixty years, Nikola,” she answered, looking at his reflection in the window. 

With a growl, he stared back, his bright blue eyes locked with hers through their shared reflections, not moving from his spot although he vibrated with barely restrained energy. “You sent me away.”

For a moment, the only sound was their shared breathing as Helen calmed her mind, her anger from earlier trying desperately to surge forward once more. “We had to fake your death because every world power wanted your bloody death ray.”

“I was trying to bring about world peace--”

She looked over her shoulder at him, trying not to glare but knowing she was failing, badly. “By giving everyone the ability to kill each other? That’s not trying to bring about world peace,” she turned back to the window, still watching him, “that’s eradication.”

“Of course you wouldn’t understand,” he muttered, turning on the spot, his back to hers for a moment before turning back, eyes narrowed and shrewd. “ _We_ had to fake my death? You mean _you_. There was no choice. You said jump, we asked how high.” Stepping forward, resting his hands either side of hers on the sill, his words were whispered into her hair, “We liked it. We liked being told what to do.” Helen closed her eyes, his scent enveloping her. “You sent me away, told me to lie low, in the same tone you’d use to have me submit. You trained me to submit.” Quieter, almost vulnerable now, he added, “I couldn’t disappoint you by disobeying.”

“But sixty years of silence?” she asked, turning within the cage he’d made with his arms. “I didn’t say that.”

Leaning back onto his heels, he stopped crowding her, his hands leaving the sill. “Your tone left much to be desired,” he admitted, “but when Helen Magnus tells you what to do…”

She shook her head, folding her arms in front of her. “But you don’t listen to me, not in our daily lives.”

He shrugged. “I had to, that time.” Staring into her eyes, Helen felt the knot of anger and hurt lessen. He didn’t always know what to say, even if he acted like he knew what his words were doing, but for the first time since the war she saw her friend. 

The same friend who lured her from her lecture and tried to kill her. “I’m nowhere close to forgiving you for that stunt in Rome,” she informed him.

“Well, I could--”

“Hey Doc?” Henry’s voice crackled over the radio. “Me and the Big Guy are up with the busted motor.”

Not tearing her eyes away from Nikola, she reached for her radio, clipped to her skirt. It felt cool in her hand as she answered. “Thank you Henry. Is there anything else I should be aware of?”

“You might feel a bit of movement, but…” The pair were silent, waiting for Henry to finish his sentence. “No, you should be good.”

She turned down the radio, and quirked her eyebrow, tilting her head expectantly. “You could what, Nikola?”

He smirked, leaning into her bubble of personal space again. “Your boy is up there now, fixing this archaic mess you call an elevator.” His voice, a soft murmur in what now felt like the tiniest elevator ever, blanketed her senses. Honeyed words flowed as he whispered to her hair, his body barely half an inch from pressing flush against her. “Allow me to plead forgiveness in the time he takes.”

“And if I don’t?” she asked coolly. 

He swallowed, obviously uncomfortable. “If you don’t, I dissolve our old agreement now.”

Helen narrowed her eyes, weighing his words in her mind, cognizant of his laboured breathing brought on by the desire ( _need_ ) to please her. “If that’s what you need to do...” Her voice, just as quiet as his, was as falsely sweet too.

“If I can’t earn my pardon, you have no use of me regardless of how I feel.” His voice rumbled through her, crackling against her spine as the saccharine sweetness drew out her ingrained power and poise, her imperious nature overriding many of the ( _softening_ ) habits she’d picked up along the way.

Looking down her nose at him, she asked, “Why earn it now? What possible reason could there be to beg at my skirts like a panting dog?”

Those blue eyes of his, usually sparkling with mischief, bored into hers with genuine need, his hands now in his pockets, an old trick of his to stop him from touching her.

“I theorise it's another play,” she continued, voice even although she wanted to languish in the warmth of arousal pooling within her. “Ask mistress for redemption?” She quirked her lip and raised an eyebrow as his nostrils flared. Again she watched his eyes, recognising his awareness of her arousal. Imperious she may be, but to have her ( _favourite_ ) submissive literally begging to serve her caused more than a slight reaction, her heart racing at the thrill of knowing him again, watching as he bowed and licked and grovelled. “Well?”

“I need grounding, Helen,” he answered, succinct and to the point. “I’ve needed grounding for the past sixty years.” As dramatic as he could be, she could tell he was in earnest. “I need you.”

She bit her lip, a knowing action and ploy as she weighed her words, her body now leaning back against the sill and the window, her hands curled around it. “The same as we used to be? My rules, no switching mid way.” This wasn’t a question. He nodded, but Helen shook her head. “I need to hear the words, Nikola.”

“The same as we used to be, your rules, no switching,” he said, desperation slowly creeping into his words.

She raised an eyebrow. “Then kneel, and service me with your mouth. Just your mouth. I feel a finger on any part of me, I shall punish you. And Nikola,” she added, closing the tiny gap, her hands gentle around his upper arms as she leant in to whisper, “I’ve had over sixty years to practice my punishments. Do not fail me.” She kissed below his earlobe, then stretched languidly as Nikola fell to his knees, pushing up her skirt, his head between her legs. Wasting no time, he began his pleading, tonguing her through her drenched knickers, tasting her arousal on the satin material she wore.

He really was much preferable silent and on his knees, putting his mouth to good use, his hands remaining on his thighs. With a pleasant hum, he licked along the lacy edging of her knickers, teeth catching the hem to pull her lingerie down. It was awkward, one side down then the other, but like every time they were together, he did as commanded with enthusiasm.

A gasp (hers as he kissed her left knee, his tongue flicking along her sensitised skin) and his mouth was back, sucking on her clit before his tongue dipped lower, re-educating himself on her flavour, lapping hungrily. She canted her hips, but stopped herself from grinding down on him. Her noisy breathing filled the elevator as his tongue teased her entrance, thrusting languidly as if he wasn’t up against a ticking clock.

Time seemed to stretch as he continued his task, humming and sucking and, “Yes, that’s it Nikola,” she crooned, palms flat on the sill to keep herself upright. Her legs shook when he started sending tiny electric shocks to her clit (even after a century of knowing him she didn’t know if they originated from his lips or his teeth or his tongue), leading her beguilingly closer to the edge with each tiny bolt.

“Hey Doc, we should be done in a few minutes,” came Henry’s crackle-filled voice over the radio.

Without missing a beat or opening her eyes, Helen groped for the radio, only barely keeping her voice even enough to acknowledge him. Then, without thought, she turned it off, biting her lip when Nikola switched tactics, nuzzling her mound and kissing around her labia, blowing gently on her overheating quim. Shivering, she moaned when his tongue began again, lapping and thrusting. One hand held his head to her, her hips grinding against his face as he sent one last lightning bolt, her whole body shuddering and shattering as she came. Through the waves of pleasure and warmth he licked, slowly kissing her down from her high. Tapping his head twice, she murmured for him to stop. With one last gentle press of his lips against her clit, he withdrew and pulled down her skirt, head bowed.

Softly, Helen ran her hand over his hair, brushing a stray lock tenderly from his forehead. “Good boy. You’re forgiven for your sixty years of complete and utter silence.” With a finger, she gently pushed his head back, so she could look into his eyes, ignoring the drying glimmer of her orgasm on his lips. “But you have much to do before I can forgive you for Rome.”

“I can work towards it?” he asked, quiet and a touch hopeful.

The elevator clanked into life, the cab moving again. With a nod, she replied, “Yes, you can.” Looking down at her feet, then back to his face ( _I have missed his face_ ), she motioned to her foot. “Hand me my knickers, and later meet me in the lab. I’ve had a few ideas about a cure for the Cabal’s virus.”

Nodding, doing as she asked, he rose to his feet. With a grin, Helen took them, grimacing at the satin material now cold and damp in her palm. Wiping his chin, she asked gently, “Are you alright?” 

Nikola kissed her fingers. “With you as my mistress, always.”

Helen laughed indulgently as she shook her head, placing her knickers in her jacket pocket. Facing the door, the elevator’s motor winding down to a stop, he mirrored her. “Ten minutes?” he asked, hands in his pockets.

The door opened, Will on the other side quickly looking between them, utterly confused. Nikola leant nearer, “Should I assume twenty?”

Stepping off the lift, she turned and smiled, arching her brow as a brief, silent warning. “Behave, Nikola.” The look on his face as the doors closed (arrogance, smarm and the remnants of his submission, Helen’s favourite mix of expressions) made the intrusive questions Will asked much easier to avoid.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, this is my one year anniversary since I came back to fandom and fanfic writing, so this one is kinda special for that reason too. :) I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
